


head below water

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Angst, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23806897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: This was exactly the kind of distraction he didn’t need, the kind that could cause him to have a dangerous misstep. It made him angry and anxious, made him want to reach out and bury his face in Jaskier’s throat, to take his hands and breathe him in up close, to drown himself in desire.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 70
Kudos: 1115





	head below water

He didn’t mean to see it. He was a believer in private things staying private; a man on the road had to take care of his needs when the opportunity arose, when there were obliging trees to shelter behind, as there were in this case.

But Jaskier had been gone longer than usual, and Geralt had begun to worry.

Not to worry about Jaskier’s safety, of course not, but worry in general that there might have been something in the vicinity that he had missed. Something predatory that he would have to dispatch.

He always felt uncomfortable acknowledging Jaskier’s vulnerability. The bard made the choice every day to follow on Geralt’s dangerous path. He knew the risks. Geralt shouldn’t expend the extra energy required to watch after Jaskier every moment. That’s how Witchers got killed.

So he wasn’t worried, exactly. Just curious. Cautious. Yes, that was it.

But he should have known before he saw it, he should have smelled it in the air or heard the soft rhythmic sounds and recognized what they meant well before he rounded the corner. But he was more curious than he was cautious, so he peered around the tree and saw Jaskier sitting on the ground with his back against the tree, his eyes closed and cock out, his hand working up and down and the other hand clutching a fistful of leaves beside him.

The fact that Geralt was startled was startling in itself. He wasn’t the sort to be startled by anything. He also wasn’t the sort to stick around to watch a private show, but there he stood with his feet rooted to the ground, eyes locked on Jaskier’s flushed cheeks and fat cock, wet and rosy at the tip where it appeared and disappeared into his fist. His mouth was open and his chest rose and fell quickly as he panted, his breath forming little puffs of steam into the air. His brow was slightly furrowed and he looked to be close to his peak.

Geralt had never seen a more erotic picture, and he’d seen a lot during his long life.

He swallowed hard and made himself step away, returning to the campsite on silent feet. His own cock was hard in his breeches and he wanted to take himself out and relieve the sudden spark in his blood, the sudden quick beat of his usually slow heart. He felt ashamed and aroused and he didn’t know which was more intense at that moment.

Geralt sat down on the fallen log in front of the fire and felt that heat pressing against his skin, the opposite of what he needed to get himself under control. He forced himself into a semi-successful meditation and by the time Jaskier got back he was more himself again.

“Did you get lost?” he growled at Jaskier, more roughly than he had intended.

Jaskier paused in the act of shaking out his bedroll and looked up at Geralt, as cool and collected as you please. “I was enjoying the sunset. Why, did you need me?”

Geralt huffed out a breath and looked away irritably. “Was just wondering if I needed to retrieve your body.”

Jaskier laughed, not taking him seriously. He rarely did. “Next time I go for a walk I’ll wear a bell.”

And he just seemed so cheerfully nonchalant, so much his usual self, but all Geralt could see when he looked at Jaskier was his cock jutting out from the open vee of his breeches, head tipped back, his face tense and glowing with pleasure. He knew what those hands had been doing just minutes before, could smell it on him so strongly that Geralt almost couldn’t smell anything else.

This was exactly the kind of distraction he didn’t need, the kind that could cause him to have a dangerous misstep. It made him angry and anxious, made him want to reach out and bury his face in Jaskier’s throat, to take his hands and breathe him in up close, to drown himself in desire.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had those thoughts.

It wasn’t even the first time he’d been aware of what Jaskier had been doing off on his own. Traveling for so long together, it was inevitable. But this was the first time he’d had a visual to go with the awareness, the first time he’d heard the frantic, nearly silent breaths as Jaskier tried to muffle his pleasure.

“I’m going down to the stream,” Geralt abruptly announced, and Jaskier looked at him in surprise.

“Surely you’re not going to bathe now, the sun is down and it’s getting chilly.”

Geralt made a dismissive sound. “It’s not like I’ll catch my death.”

“Well, you can do as you like, I suppose. But you won’t see me doing something so horrid. I’d rather smell a bit ripe than to freeze my balls off in that water right now.”

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment and reached for calm as he pictured Jaskier naked in the stream. He knew that even after he’d bathed and let the cold water force him under control that Jaskier would still be covered in that scent.

Sure enough, as soon as he had rejoined Jaskier at the fire, clean and half-frozen, he was once more distracted by Jaskier’s scent. That night he set his bedroll on the opposite side of the fire and tried not to breathe too deeply, which made him feel foolish.

This was going to be a problem.

***

It didn’t happen every night, but when it did Geralt always noticed. It was like that one accidental moment had opened a floodgate and now he was submerged in the awareness of Jaskier. Every time Jaskier wandered off in the evening after a shared dinner, Geralt had to fight the urge to go after him. He never knew what he would do if he did, he had no plan, but Jaskier was a siren song that he desperately wanted to follow.

One such night Jaskier had returned in an especially amiable mood, his eyes half-lidded and his smiles easy. He smelled like salt and musk, and Geralt tried to be still while Jaskier strummed on his lute and sang softly into the firelit night. Geralt watched his nimble fingers delicately picking out the notes, watched his mobile mouth when he sang, the way he tipped his head back just so. Geralt felt a vibration under his skin, a hum like that of a lute string plucked in a heartbeat rhythm.

There was no stream that night, nowhere to cool his desire, but Geralt stumbled away nevertheless. Jaskier’s playing faltered, but then after a moment continued. Geralt didn’t even realize he was following the scent trail Jaskier had left earlier until he found himself on the far side of a venerable oak and was leaning his back against the trunk.

He breathed in deeply of Jaskier’s fading scent and wrenched the buttons of his breeches open. If he couldn’t freeze out his lust then he’d give in to it.

His cock was already so hard it hurt to take it in hand, but he gave himself a punishing squeeze and relished the pain. It didn’t take much, just a few minutes of stroking himself to flashes of Jaskier’s open mouth and tipped back head, the nearly inaudible gasps reined in so that Geralt wouldn’t hear, his hands playing his own body the way he played his lute, and Geralt was spilling onto the forest floor.

When he rejoined Jaskier at the fire the lute was resting against a fallen log and Jaskier was watching him with curious eyes. He looked like he was about to say something, but bit it back and pursed his lips.

“What,” Geralt groused, and his tone was far too defensive.

Jaskier shook his head. “Nothing. Unless you want to talk about it.”

“What would I want to talk about?”

“Whatever has been bothering you lately. If it’s me, just tell me. If I’ve done something wrong.” He looked like he was holding his breath, waiting. The blue of his eyes had washed out from the golden light of the fire, and they looked like clear glass.

Geralt shook out his bedroll. “You’ve done nothing.” Except smelled too good, looked too enticing, breathed too distractingly. Existed.

Jaskier bit his lip and Geralt looked away quickly. He should send Jaskier somewhere far away. Sever ties completely. One of them was going to get killed, at this rate. A little lust wasn’t worth it.

He settled down, focusing his senses on Roach instead, where she stood quietly drowsing nearby. Roach was a better travelling companion, quiet and helpful. Before Jaskier, all he’d needed was Roach. He could go back to that again.

Maybe he’d bring it up at the next town, where he could leave Jaskier to his own devices and move on knowing that he was safe. The fact that the very idea of it made his heart speed up and his gut clench was irrelevant. He could do whatever needed to be done, no matter how difficult. He had lived his whole life by that tenet.

He rolled over to face away from Jaskier, still smelling him on the breeze beneath the campfire smoke. After a few minutes of silence Jaskier also lay down on his own bedroll. Geralt tried not to think of the hurt that would be clouding his eyes. The fact that he could anticipate Jaskier’s reaction only steeled his resolve.

***

In the next town Geralt decided he’d do it, he’d tell Jaskier he wanted to travel alone. But then Jaskier had played for the patrons of the inn and his eyes had sparkled just so when he winked at Geralt over the heads of the crowd, and Geralt couldn’t do it.

It should have made his resolve stronger, but it weakened him instead. After all, a dangerous voice in his head whispered to him, they’d been traveling together for years and neither of them had died yet. He felt helpless and deeply frustrated, addicted to Jaskier the way some men couldn’t survive a day without drink.

Geralt finally realized with horror that he didn’t just want Jaskier, he wanted him to _stay._

***

There was another town, then another, more monsters to kill and more campfires to share. More of Jaskier’s scent to chase after, more frigid streams as the season crept into winter.

Jaskier didn’t have Geralt’s fortitude when it came to the cold, so when the first snow fell they stopped at the next town to purchase a better cloak and warmer boots for him. Again Geralt thought of leaving him, maybe just for the winter. Surely that would be a good compromise. Maybe just some time apart would help, some space to breathe.

The thought was discarded as soon as it entered his mind, because Jaskier looked at him with grinning gratitude when Geralt shared his own coin for the cloak, and buried his face in the soft woolen hood like a rabbit settling in for winter. His breath ghosted in the air and he was rosy with the chill, and Geralt wanted to touch his cheek.

They took their purchases back to the inn and warmed themselves by the fire in the public room. Jaskier clutched his cloak around him and stamped his feet.

“Maybe it will be warmer in our room,” he said hopefully. “I’d like to thaw out before I perform tonight.”

“Why don’t you head up there,” Geralt replied, nudging him toward the stairs. “I’ll go find the alderman and see about any contracts to be had.”

Jaskier nodded and brushed Geralt’s arm as he passed, and Geralt felt that touch all the way down the street through the lightly gusting snow.

There was something making a meal of hunters in the nearby forest, and Geralt resolved to set out the next day to investigate. The alderman made him a generous offer and Geralt returned to the inn feeling hopeful. Winter was a lean time for everyone, including Witchers, and they had precious little coin to spare.

He trudged up the stairs to their room and before he even reached the door he smelled it, _Jaskier._

His nostrils flared and he fumbled the doorknob, his glove slipping off and clattering the doorframe. He almost turned away and left, but something made him turn that knob and push open the door. Jaskier was standing by the fireplace, his clothes askew and his eyes wide, and Geralt knew with certainty that he had been on the bed only seconds before.

They locked eyes and he watched Jaskier swallow nervously, his cheeks flushed. He smoothed his shirt down, the bottom untucked and hanging loosely over his breeches.

“I can come back,” Geralt said, and his voice came out too rough.

Jaskier blinked and didn’t say anything, utterly silent for once. His eyes were very wide and blue.

Geralt backed out of the room and stumbled a little on the stairs. He ordered an ale at the bar and sat in the corner drinking it, trying not to think about what Jaskier might be doing upstairs, so naturally it was all he thought about. His ale was weak and unsatisfying, and his erection wouldn’t go away.

When he returned a while later, having determined that enough time had passed for Jaskier to finish taking care of business, he was hit once again with that scent as he crossed the threshold. Jaskier was leaning on the window frame and watching the snow fall. His shirt was still untucked, his sleeves rolled up. The fire was crackling in the fireplace and the room was gratifyingly warm.

“That was awkward,” Jaskier said contritely, turning to him. “I’m sorry for that.”

Geralt shrugged. “We all need space sometimes,” he replied, trying for a nonchalance he didn’t feel. He unclasped his cloak and hung it on a hook by the door beside Jaskier’s.

Jaskier flashed a relieved smile. “True. I suppose we all do, even Witchers. ”

Geralt looked at him for a long moment. Jaskier’s cheeks grew pink and Geralt raised his eyebrows. “Even Witchers,” he agreed. As soon as Jaskier left the room he’d have his hand down his trousers, for a certainty.

“Well,” Jaskier said breezily, waving a hand dismissively and tucking his shirt in. “I’ve got to head down and earn my keep. How does the crowd seem tonight?”

“Boisterous.” Geralt’s erection still hadn’t flagged, and he turned his body away to rummage through his pack for nothing in particular. It was a wonder that Jaskier hadn’t noticed, but then they were both trying very hard not to look at each other.

“That’s good. Maybe they’ll toss me enough that we can stay another night. The weather seems to be turning unfavorable.”

Geralt hummed. “I’ve got to search the woods tomorrow, so we’ll have to stay tomorrow night regardless.”

Jaskier shrugged into his doublet and fussed with the buttons. “I won’t mind that at all, this little room is quite lovely. We’ve stayed in much worse places, for sure. There may not be a bathtub, but there’s a lovely painted wash basin. Precious little wildflowers, look. And did you see they even supplied us with soap?”

Geralt wished Jaskier would just go already. His cock was beginning to throb in its confines, and the scent in the room was driving him mad. He wanted to open the window and get some fresh air in there, no matter how cold.

“Alright, I’ll get out of your lovely silver hair,” Jaskier said, as though he’d heard Geralt’s thoughts. “Will you be watching tonight?”

He wanted to watch. He’d never admit it, but he loved watching Jaskier perform. It was never as good to watch him in front of other people as it was to watch him beside a campfire, just the two of them, but there was indeed something mesmerizing about how he could play to a crowd. But not tonight. Tonight if he went downstairs he would only be watching Jaskier’s nimble fingers, his open mouth, his head tipped back as he sang.

“I’ll stay up here tonight,” Geralt said, addressing the window instead of Jaskier’s face. “You sing so loudly I’ll hear it up here anyway.”

Instead of taking it as a complaint Jaskier laughed a little breathlessly. “I’ll still sing for you, then.”

Geralt’s heart gave an extra beat, startling him.

On his way to the door Jaskier touched Geralt’s shoulder in passing. Likely it was an unconscious gesture, but Geralt was suddenly overwhelmed by the scent he was trying so hard to ignore, and instinct had him grabbing Jaskier’s wrist before he could pull it away, squeezing and trapping it there.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier stuttered, shocked, trying to get away.

Geralt took a deep breath and then another, and felt his composure slipping away. As though in a trance he lifted Jaskier’s hand to his face and inhaled salt and sweet musk, strong and pure. He closed his eyes, his every sense tuning in to Jaskier’s rabbit-racing heart and trembling hand and shuddering breath.

“Is that--are you--” Jaskier said, and Geralt opened his eyes. “Oh gods. Can you _smell_ it on me?”

A groan slipped out of Geralt’s throat. “I can’t smell anything else.”

Jaskier slowly stopped trying to get away and stood quiescent in his grip. He curled his fingers and touched Geralt’s cheek. Geralt turned helplessly into the touch and Jaskier’s little finger caught the corner of his lower lip. Time stopped and hung in the air between them, a frozen moment. Then Jaskier slid that finger along his lip and Geralt caught it in his mouth, sucking the scent off of his skin.

Jaskier let out a choked whimper. “Please,” he said. “Geralt, please.”

Geralt took his ring finger as well as his pinky into his mouth, running his tongue over and between, shameless and desperate. Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s shoulder with his free hand, his fingers digging into muscle and bone. Geralt cupped Jaskier’s neck and let his fingers slip out with a slick sound, and drew him forward so he could bury his face against Jaskier’s throat, breathing in deeply. His scent was different there where the skin was thin and delicate, saltier, and he tasted him there, open-mouthed and with teeth.

Jaskier keened, trying to get closer, sliding his hands into Geralt’s hair. He tugged and it was just on the far side of too hard, and Geralt shivered.

“Tell me you want me,” Geralt whispered, and it was a question even if it came out as a command. “Or I’ll stop right now.”

“I want you,” Jaskier gasped, trying to pull Geralt’s mouth to his. “I was thinking of you, when you found me here. I couldn’t finish, I still--please, Geralt.”

Geralt slid his hand down Jaskier’s chest, the taut muscles of his stomach, the ridge of his erection through his breeches, and Jaskier bucked against him, groaning. Geralt caught his mouth and kissed him hard, past the point of thinking this was a bad idea. It was the only thing he could imagine doing, not a choice but an inevitable fall into sharp pleasure and an undercurrent of that scent he wanted to drown in.

“Every time you touched yourself, every time you went off in the woods alone, I could smell it. I wanted to push you down and taste you here,” he growled, pulling back to bite at the palm of Jaskier’s hand, “and here,” he continued, cupping Jaskier’s erection.

Jaskier scrabbled at the buttons of his own breeches. “I’m not stopping you, in fact I’ll help. Do you want me on the bed? Against the wall? I’m not particular, I’ve been waiting so long I’ll be happy any way I can have you.”

Geralt dropped to his knees and Jaskier moaned and stared, his hands going lax as they forgot their task. Geralt pulled him out of his breeches and buried his nose at the base of his cock, right where the scent was the strongest, mouthing at his balls and then sucking the tip of his cock into his mouth. The flavor was indescribable, and he slipped away into the most intense lust his senses had ever experienced. He was drowning in salt, in musk, stopping just short of choking as he tried to take him deeper and deeper, forgetting even to breathe.

Jaskier was chanting his name, clutching at his head and shaking. “Geralt, come here, please. It’s too much, come here,” he begged, guiding him off.

Geralt swayed against him, seeing stars, as Jaskier touched his lips with two fingers.

“Come here,” he said again, his voice gentle. He pulled Geralt over to the bed and made him lie down, then took off his own clothes and joined him there. He stretched out beside Geralt, who followed the lean length of him with his eyes and then his hand, tracing the slim frame. Jaskier had the taut arms of one who held a lute every day, the strong hands of a skilled musician, the thighs and calves of one who walked everywhere he roamed. Geralt realized that he knew Jaskier’s body almost as well as he knew his own, though he had never been allowed to explore it. He recognized the way life had shaped him, life alongside Geralt for years and years.

There was nowhere else Geralt could call home, but this man beneath him.

“Slow down,” Jaskier said, coaxingly, lacing his fingers with Geralt’s and pulling him in for a kiss that brought his perception of the world down into slow motion like a drug in his veins. Everything he needed was the sweep of Jaskier’s tongue, the flavor of his mouth, the silky feel of his skin.

“Wait,” Geralt said, standing up to remove his clothes. He didn’t miss the hungry way that Jaskier’s gaze swept over his body, and it affected him deeply.

“I’ve done my fair share of wanting, you know,” Jaskier murmured, reaching out to pull Geralt down again, sighing when skin met skin. “But for now I’ll let you play.”

Geralt closed his eyes and kissed him, then explored his way down Jaskier’s body with his mouth. This time when he tasted Jaskier’s cock it was less frantic but no less desperate. He would have used his hands as well but Jaskier had taken them both for his own, linking their fingers and tightening whenever the pleasure spiked, and Geralt let him. It helped to have an anchor, so he didn’t drown.

When Jaskier tugged on his head and gasped, “Geralt, I’m close,” Geralt hummed and held on while Jaskier cried out, pulling back just enough to feel the hot spurts over his tongue. Bitter salt filled his mouth, purely distilled Jaskier, and Geralt moaned like he was dying.

“Oh, gods,” Jaskier breathed, running his fingers through Geralt’s mussed hair. “How are you real?”

Geralt slowly swallowed and pulled off, curling his tongue around Jaskier’s softening cock as he went. Jaskier hissed and twitched, tightening his fingers in Geralt’s hair, so he did it again just to feel that delicious tug on his scalp. Jaskier gave a breathy laugh, his chest still heaving.

“If you give me a moment,” Jaskier said, smiling as Geralt crawled up and covered him with his body, “we can take care of you.”

Geralt settled half on Jaskier’s side so as not to crush the air from his lungs, and kissed him. Softly at first, learning the curve of his lips, the natural pout of them, then sweeping his tongue through his mouth quickly, like a darting fish. Jaskier followed his mouth as Geralt pulled away, seeking more, and Geralt nipped at his bottom lip. Jaskier dug his fingers into Geralt’s shoulders.

“Would you like to fuck me?”

Geralt’s hips bucked involuntarily against Jaskier’s, leaving a slick trail against his stomach. “Would you like me to?” he asked, turning the question back on him.

Jaskier nodded, and his blue eyes were vulnerable. “It’s all I’ve thought about.”

“And how did you imagine it?” Geralt kissed down Jaskier’s chin and flickered his tongue down the line of his throat, tasting salt.

“Oh…” Jaskier moaned, tipping his head back. “By the campfire, gently, on a bed of furs. After a fight, when your blood’s still up and you take me hard against a tree. In a room at an inn, sharing a bed, and you say to me, “Jaskier, I need you,” and spend hours opening me up on your fingers.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, biting his collarbone. “I need you. But I don’t think I can wait hours.”

Jaskier groaned, hooking his leg around Geralt’s and hanging on through a full bodied shiver. “I don’t think I could either. Let’s try that next time, shall we?”

“Maybe next time I’ll pull you into the bath with me and kiss you until you come. I’ll wash you clean and then fuck you on the bed until you’re dirty again and your own scent has come back.”

“Is that what you imagined?” Jaskier pulled his head up to look him in the eye.

“Hmm. One of many ways.”

“I look forward to it. It’s a shame this room has no bathtub.”

Geralt smoothed Jaskier’s sweaty hair back from his eyes. “Not at all. It means that I can breathe you in already, and drown in you.”

Jaskier kissed him hard and deeply, twining his arms around Geralt’s neck and holding on like he might try to escape. “We need oil,” he mumbled against Geralt’s mouth.

“You’ll have to let me go first,” he replied, distracted when Jaskier pulled the leather tie from his hair and let it fall all around their faces like a curtain. Geralt’s medallion dragged over Jaskier’s chest and he trembled.

“Just hurry back,” he said, running his fingers through Geralt’s hair.

Geralt found a small bottle of bath oil among Jaskier’s things, and his hands trembled when he guided Jaskier’s legs open and pressed his fingers to his hole, gently exploring. Jaskier made a hoarse sound and fluttered around his finger when he slowly pressed inside, and he grasped at the bedsheets.

“Yes, more,” he whispered, nodding, and Geralt couldn’t deny him.

When he was sheened in sweat and Geralt had gone as slowly as he was able to, drawing out the pleasure until Jaskier was rocking into his fingers and making little whining sounds in his throat, he pulled out his fingers and replaced them with his cock. He crept forward by infinitesimal degrees, enjoying the look of desperation on Jaskier’s face.

“Too slow?” Geralt asked innocently, gripping Jaskier’s lean thighs.

Jaskier gritted his teeth. “You don’t have to be so careful with me.” He wrapped his hand around Geralt’s forearm and held on.

Geralt frowned. “Yes, I do.”

Jaskier’s eyes were limpid and startlingly blue, locked on his own. “Be careful with me afterwards.”

“I don’t think you have enough leverage to argue with me,” Geralt said, smiling, but he obliged Jaskier with a thrust that finally seated him to the hilt, and Jaskier’s eyes rolled back.

“Oh, Geralt,” he mumbled, biting his lip. His mouth fell open on a deep, silent breath and his head tipped back, and it was so close to the memory of seeing him at the tree that Geralt’s hips stuttered.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

Jaskier opened his eyes and took his cock in his hand, stroking slowly in time to Geralt’s thrusts. Together they fell into a swaying rhythm, and Geralt watched the reddened tip of Jaskier’s cock appear and disappear into his fist.

“Jaskier,” he said, and was helpless to say anything else. Jaskier touched Geralt’s mouth with his free hand and his scent filled Geralt’s lungs. He lost track of time. It could have been minutes or hours before the pleasure finally grew from a flicker to a burn, and still he wanted it to last longer.

“Are you close?” Jaskier asked, his hand speeding up on his cock.

“Yes,” he gasped, trying not to grip Jaskier’s thighs too hard. He felt a wave of pleasure crashing over him, and when Jaskier arched back and spurted onto his stomach Geralt finally let go. He pressed as deeply as he could into Jaskier’s body and came with a throbbing rush that made him see stars behind his eyelids.

“Come here, come here,” Jaskier said in a voice thick with emotion, and Geralt pulled out much sooner than he would have liked in order to gather Jaskier into his arms.

“Was I too rough?”

“No one has taken such care,” Jaskier murmured. “But then no one else is you.”

“Hmm. They should have taken better care with you.”

Jaskier shook his head. “I’m not fragile, Geralt. Not after so many years at your side.”

“That’s not why you deserve gentleness.”

He smiled against Geralt’s shoulder. “Well, then I’ll take care with you as well, as much as you take with me.”

Geralt scoffed and shifted to look Jaskier in the eye. “No need.”

Jaskier arched an eyebrow at him. “I imagine not many have been careful with you. Perhaps we both can learn a different way.”

Geralt kissed him, and then kissed him again when once wasn’t enough. Before he got lost in the feel of Jaskier’s mouth he got up to find a cloth to clean them both up. Once done, Geralt brought a wineskin from his pack and they shared it together, sitting up against the headboard. The fire crackled softly in the hearth and Geralt couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so content, like there was nothing more important than that moment with Jaskier beside him.

After a while Jaskier roused himself, blinking. “I’d forgotten what I set out to do, before all this.”

Geralt nodded, remembering. “You were going to sing for your supper. I distracted you.”

Jaskier looked out the window and it was pitch dark, no way to tell the time. They both listened to the sounds of the crowd downstairs, gauging if Jaskier had missed his opportunity.

“I think I still have time,” he said, turning to Geralt and catching his eye. “Though I’d rather stay up here with you.”

“I could distract you again,” Geralt offered, sucking a kiss into Jaskier’s palm.

Jaskier’s mouth fell open and his eyes grew heavy lidded, then he shook his head sharply as though rousing himself from a dream. “Not if you want somewhere to sleep tomorrow night, you won’t.”

He slipped quickly from the bed before Geralt could pull him back. Geralt sat back and watched him get dressed, admiring the long lines of him, now that he was allowed to look. The color was still high in Jaskier’s flushed cheeks, and he looked radiant in the firelight. _You’re beautiful,_ he thought, but couldn’t say it.

“Jaskier,” he said instead, as the bard was hopping on one foot pulling his boot on.

“Yes?” He sounded distracted, and reached for his other boot.

“Hurry back.”

Jaskier looked up and met Geralt’s gaze. He narrowed his eyes a moment, then smiled as though he had heard the things that Geralt had not said. “Waiting makes the wanting greater.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, returning his smile.

Fully dressed, Jaskier came back to him. He cupped Geralt’s cheek and kissed him, with indeed greater care than he was used to. Geralt breathed in salt, and sweet musk, and warmth, and let himself be kissed.

“I’ll sing for you,” Jaskier said with a wink. He slung his lute over his shoulder and glided out of the room on light feet. Geralt closed his eyes and waited, listening for his voice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments make my heart happy!


End file.
